


It's Not The Fall That Kills You

by VMorticia



Series: Random Fics I'm Probably Never Going To Finish... [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel (Good Omens), Crack, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Gen, Guardian Angels, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Not Beta Read, Possession, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-09-30 18:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20451401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VMorticia/pseuds/VMorticia
Summary: Guardian Angels were a new idea. There were a lot of formerly-mortal souls just sitting around in Heaven, and some of them had developed a tendency to grow restless with the idea of wanting to get out and keep on doing good. Crowley loved the idea.





	1. A Demon And An Angel Walk Into A HYDRA Base In Siberia

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: I own as much as Jon Snow knows. Characters' opinions are not necessarily a reflection of the author's.

x x x

She died in World War One.

She didn't like when people called it that.

She had been a nurse, tending the wounded, when it happened. She didn't quite remember the actual death part, but Heaven was nice. A bit too quiet, after spending as much time as she had quite so close to a war zone, but still very nice.

But then, when the War To End All Wars didn't... and World War Two started... she started fretting. No one was supposed to fret in Heaven, so she was offered a job as a Guardian Angel to try to help her cope with the worry.

Guardian Angels weren't allowed to show their faces to their charges, but they could go unseen like ghosts if they wanted. They couldn't perform Miracles, like real Angels, but they could nudge. Nudge their charge(s) with whispers of encouragement, or even a slight physical shove so long as it could be passed off as the wind or tripping over their feet or the like. Nudge threats to their charge(s) with similar trips or slips, though words of discouragement were more a Demon's territory and thus rather discouraged.

She got the hang of it pretty quickly.

The real Angels seemed to Know. They had foresight, and did worry about little things like this war, when they claimed it certainly wasn't Apocalypse time  _ yet _ .

They also Knew enough to give her oddly specific instructions.

She was to watch over a small group of soldiers, until one of them martyred himself. They Knew it would happen, her job was just to help them get to that point in relatively good health.

She knew enough about how a war worked to manage quite nicely.

Even when her charges ended up as POWs, she was able to help them escape with whispered encouragement and tactical advice, the second someone unlocked the cages.

Then she realised  _ he _ was supposed to be under her charge, too. The exact words of her instructions were to watch over that squad, and upon saving their butts he was promptly given the position of their leader.

Well drat, he was the one who was going to be a martyr, wasn't he?

Captain America.

Sure, she'd heard about him, but it was something else to see him in person. Angels weren't supposed to have romantic or lustful feelings, but if she'd still been human...

During the campaign that followed, her charges were off on a  _ mission _ . It was a good mission, and she helped where she could, distracting the enemies so they missed most of their shots, and whispering to her charges the safer choices to make to stay together and alive.

The one who called himself Dum Dum started talking about being blessed by Lady Luck. She was about eighty percent sure she was responsible for that... and the other twenty percent liked to take credit anyway.

Then she slipped up.

She wasn't sure how she could have prevented it, but it had to be a failure, right? She was meant to protect them.

But one of them died.

Fell off a train, over a really deep ravine. That was definitely enough to kill a mortal. It was a very long way down.

Captain America wasn't the only one lamenting the inability to get drunk, shortly thereafter.

She found herself a few blocks away from her charges, wandering the bombed out streets near the pub. She was close enough to be aware of them, but far enough to get away with not hiding.

That was when he found her.

"Well hello there, little mini-angel," he purred.

She knew the instant she saw him that he was a Demon. It was the eyes, as he peered over his sunglasses (wearing sunglasses in the dead of night? Really?)

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I just wanted to talk."

"Yeah, sure, temptress." she sniped.

He grinned at that, slightly more broadly than that face should be able to. "Hah, you mini-angels are adorable. A whole new set of preconceptions to violate. How fun."

She glared at him, but he just shrugged idly.

"I've been watching you. You got a good gig here. Keeping an eye on a band of noble heroes, until one of them kicks the bucket."

"Martyrs himself," she retorted sharply. "And I'm pretty sure the falling off of a cliff wasn't deliberate, so I'm still on duty," she added, referring to the death she had failed to prevent. It did still deeply upset her, but she couldn't afford to show weakness in front of the Demon.

"Oh yes, certainly," the Demon said with a nod, but he was still grinning and that was worrying. "Still, I checked the tally. He's not actually dead yet."

"What?"

"Your dead man... isn't," the Demon reiterated. "He's still alive. Hasn't made the trip upstairs. Still upon this mortal coil. Has yet to become an ex-human."

"But-"

The Demon laughed. "I bought the men who have him. They're on the fast-track downstairs, and you could make it faster if you tried."

"I- how do I find him?"

"I'll tell you what," he said with a grin. "Meet me back here in a couple of weeks, and I'll show you the way. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me, I have some rather urgent business with a some Nazis in a church." He waved dismissively, and sauntered off. "Catch you later, mini-angel."

x x x

A couple of weeks went by really slowly. Mostly because that infuriating Captain America did in fact go and martyr himself, and she wasn't supposed to still be on Earth for about half of that time.

She would make the excuse that she was checking up on the survivors of her charges, making sure they were coping.

And she returned to the same spot exactly fourteen days after her first meeting with the Demon.

He was, predictably, waiting for her.

"You know,  _ he's _ not dead yet, either," were his first words to her.

"Who?"

"The supposed martyr. He survived the attempt."

"But-"

"Which, very technically, means you can stay to take care of our business, here."

"I wasn't aware we had any business?"

"I'm going to show you the way to the man you lost... and I promise, that is all I mean to do to, for or with you."

"I know Demons like deals and payments. I won't agree to any such thing."

He shrugged. "My deals aren't with you, or your boy. If you don't care enough about saving his soul, well, I can't take any responsibility for your mistakes." He was grinning, that horrible too-wide grin again.

"Fine, take me to him."

x x x

A Demon and an angel walked into a HYDRA base in Siberia.

She wished that was the first line of a joke.

They were both invisible, so the guards didn't bother them. It was pretty easy to get in there, but unfortunately she was not permitted to physically intervene and her charge was currently unconscious.

Meanwhile, using his powers to only be heard by her, and not the humans around them, the Demon casually explained to her, "I'd be happy to miracle him out of here, just for the looks on their faces, but I can only create harmful miracles... and leaving him here is much more harmful to him, in the long run. I get the feeling this isn't going to be much fun for you."

"Why?"

"Oh, you'll see. Meanwhile, if you don't mind, I've got a date in Berlin."

And he just walked off.

She would say 'damn him', but he already was, so... well, drat.

She turned to look at her charge, frowning as she did so. She could still sense most of the others, and knew they were safe and scheduled to return home soon. This was the only one left who needed her help... and oh boy did he need help.

For the first time since she had died, she felt afraid.

x x x

Aziraphale didn't meddle with Crowley's work, and in return Crowley (usually) extended the same courtesy. Discussing work often ruined a good meal, and that just wasn't worth the trouble.

But when Crowley was wearing  _ that _ too-broad grin, well it always spelled some sort of trouble.

"You're in a good mood," Aziraphale said cautiously.

"Well, yes. Hell is very happy today," Crowley all but purred. "Celebrity arriving, and all that."

"Ah yes. Hitler," Aziraphale said curtly.

"Although, we had a little disagreement with Niflheim," Crowley added, in an undertone of sharing secrets or celebrity gossip. "They wanted Johann Schmidt. Can you believe it?"

"Oh, really?" That was odd. Niflheim usually didn't take humans.

"Something about how he died, I don't know. In the end, we agreed to give him something worse than either of us. That was entertaining, I can tell you."

"Worse than giving him to Dagon?"

Crowley snorted. "Schmidt might've liked Dagon. No, eternal torment's all about personal issues. Hela said it was ironic, and Lucifer agreed, so-" Crowley shrugged. "Unlucky sod. I mean, at least in Hell you know where you stand, right?"

Aziraphale shrugged vaguely. Angels tended to avoid Hell, so Aziraphale had no personal point of reference to get what Crowley meant there. It was an easy enough guess, though.

"Your lot must be happy, too," Crowley prodded. "Latest little war's over, innocent lives nice and safe, right?"

"I suppose." Aziraphale frowned, suddenly realising that no, Heaven was in fact  _ not _ very happy at the moment.

"What's got you so down in the dumps?" Crowley asked, observant as ever.

"I'm not entirely sure. You know, upstairs never really seemed all that invested in this war, if I'm honest. I don't even think a single  _ real _ Angel ever visited the front."

"Well, except for when you..."

"That was London. It was different."

"Mmhmm."

"They were invested in the last one. And that little spat with Napoleon. I just-" Aziraphale frowned. "I don't quite know what the point was."

"Well our point was mass genocide," Crowley pointed out, dismissively. "You don't get much more metaphorically black-and-white than that. I'm not quite sure why your lot  _ wouldn't _ be invested in the usual thwarting and heroics. Maybe there's something bigger afoot?"

"How do you get bigger than 'saving Europe from a genocidal maniac'?" Aziraphale asked dubiously.

Crowley shrugged, but he was also grinning, in a disconcerting way.

"Are you going to eat that?" Aziraphale asked.

"Obviously not."

Aziraphale snatched the plate from in front of Crowley, happily choosing to forget the strange behaviour of his fellow Angels for the time being, in favour of a second helping of dessert.

x x x

No amount of nudging was going to help.

Interfering with these clearly evil men (she believed the Demon's words, that these men were on the fast-track downstairs) just inspired the theory that this location was haunted or cursed, but it didn't actually  _ stop _ them from doing these evil things to her charge. It just angered them, and they would likely take that out on him.

Nothing she could whisper to him was going to stop the fact that torture hurts.

And when she realised what, exactly, they were trying to do, she also realised that encouraging him to resist was only going to cause him more pain.

She read all their files. Their methods and how they expected it to work.

Maybe if...

It would absolutely be breaking  _ all _ of the rules, but her job was to protect him.

So she didn't see much of a choice here, really.

x x x

Bucky knew where he was.

He knew what was going on.

He was being tortured by HYDRA.

He wasn't sure why, but that didn't matter.

He would resist.

He would rather die than submit.

It was during one of the brief lulls between torture sessions, when he heard it. He was alone but had no way to escape.

"I can help you," a soft female voice whispered. It sounded like it was out loud, and not over a tinny speaker or the like, but there was no one visible in the room. "I need your permission, but I can protect you from these monsters."

"Wh-what do I have to do?"

"Just give me permission."

"You're not HYDRA, are you? If you're not HYDRA, I'll let you help me."

"If I am?"

"I'll kill you."

"I'm not."

"Good."

That was the last thing he remembered...

x x x


	2. A One-Armed Man Walks Into A Bookshop In Soho

x x x

Bucky woke up in a forest.

He had no idea how he got there, but 'not being tortured by HYDRA' was good enough for him, for now.

It was very cold, there was snow on the ground, but he appeared to be dressed well for it, in all-black tactical gear. The snow directly in front of him had been disturbed: it looked like the message had been drawn by hand, and it said 'RUN', with an arrow pointing directly ahead of him.

He stared at it for all of five seconds, before deciding to destroy the message and follow its directions.

It was basic common sense. Someone had offered to help him, then the next thing he knew he was outside, standing in front of a message telling him to run. He hadn't woken up in any normal definition of the word. He had suddenly gained awareness while standing in the middle of a freaking forest.

Something very strange had definitely happened, and it had got him away from HYDRA. He was not going to look that gift horse in the mouth.

So he ran.

The path he followed led to a stream, and he had the tactical training to use that to his advantage, still assuming he was very likely to be followed.

Within a few hours, he was fairly sure he had lost anyone pursuing him.

Thinking that was a mistake.

"желание."

x x x

"So, ah, I might have messed up just a teensy bit," Crowley said, taking the seat next to Aziraphale on the bench in the park. It was spy meeting season again, and there were ducks to feed, but that didn't stop Aziraphale from trying to enjoy an ice cream cone before the Demon could ruin the mood.

Too late. Aziraphale sighed. Oh dear, this wasn't going to be one of those enjoyable meetings where they discuss ordinary human behaviours, after all. "But isn't that a good thing, if you mess up at being bad?"

Crowley just stared at Aziraphale for a moment, before offering a dramatic eye-rolling in response. "I just wanted to see if I could do it. It was fun, and nobody died. Well, nobody who wasn't going to anyway. The problem is, I don't want downstairs to find out what I've done. It might give them ideas."

"Oh dear," Aziraphale muttered. Well there went all hopes of enjoying the remains of the ice cream. There wasn't much left, may as well throw it in the bin next to the bench. No appetite for that, if this was one of Crowley's 'don't let downstairs know' schemes.

"You know how Beelzebub and Metatron near flipped their lids when it was announced that humans would be given the choice to become some cutesy imitation of angels?" Crowley asked pointedly.

"'Guardian angels', wasn't it? Like that new film, what was it called?"

" _ It's a Wonderful Life _ ," Crowley sneered in response.

Aziraphale nodded. "That's the one, yes. I recall no one upstairs was too happy with the idea. Some of them took it as an insult, others expected they'd have to babysit. Then nothing much changed, when it was implemented."

"Well I thought it might be a laugh to try to tempt a few of them, just to see if I could," Crowley explained. "You know, they're still human souls, even if they  _ have _ seen the glory of Heaven, and all that."

"And...?" Aziraphale was afraid to ask.

"Well, proof of theory, certainly," Crowley shrugged. "Nothing you'd be truly upset over, though your friends upstairs would disagree. Just a bit of fun, like I said. Low-level, basic sins: greed, pride, envy, that sort of thing. I gave one of them a gambling addiction, which he passed on to his charge. Another now thinks she's better than real Angels, because she thinks she's working harder and deserves extra credit. If I'd stopped after the first five, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"What did you do?" Aziraphale asked, genuinely worried now.

Crowley scowled at the ground. "I underestimated the human capacity for evil, again."

"Oh dear," Aziraphale frowned. "Well we've all done that, before. How can I help fix it?"

x x x

The second time Bucky woke up, it was in France. He recognised the town as one that he had passed through during the war, but it had been rebuilt since. It was here that he learned his left arm had been replaced. The metal prosthetic was nice, though... and strong, too, so he wasn't about to complain about that. He lasted a week before they found him, this time.

The third time, he woke up in Italy. He only knew this because of the local language. Only two days later, and he had just figured out he was on the southern coast, when they caught up to him again.

The fourth time, he didn't know where he was, he'd clearly made it out of Europe, though. He wondered, briefly, if they were taking him back to the same base each time, or not. He sort of liked to think it was the former option, because that meant he was getting further away from them each time. This time, he managed to evade them for almost a month.

The fifth time, he woke up in New York.

It had changed a  _ lot _ . He got a hold of a newspaper, and wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry at the revelation that it was 1983. He found a mirror, and realised he hadn't aged a day.

Okay, laughing it was, then.

A strange girl found him, on his second day in the city. She couldn't have been older than twelve, with black hair, in a high ponytail, and round glasses. She walked right up to him on the street, and said, "You should be in London." Then walked off as if there was nothing strange at all about that.

He didn't think anything of it, and instead hid out in Brooklyn for the next few months. He even got a job. It felt almost normal, if it weren't for the freaking year. A lot had changed, and he gradually worked on figuring it all out. He even read the history books, and learned what had happened to all of his friends.

He thought it would be a really bad idea to contact the few of them who were still alive, so set about trying to make a new life instead.

Then, when he had finally let his guard down...

"желание."

x x x

"Fuck Russia!" he complained, when he woke again.

He  _ then _ deigned to look around. He was in London. Great, just great.

He also noticed his right arm hurt.

He was in a quiet alleyway, so he took the time to roll up the sleeve, and saw that there was a shallow cut there. Above that, was writing in black ink.

It was a bit disturbing, why was he injured? He knew it was strange, but he hadn't woken up like this with any injuries before. Judging by the angle of the cut, it looked almost self-inflicted, and it was just enough to sting without doing real damage. Neat enough to maybe not even scar, if he was lucky. The most logical explanation was, it was in fact there deliberately, to draw his attention to the writing.

The writing was an address, and he decided that this message was clearly important, so he sought it out.

x x x

Some things are fundamentally of Heaven, and others of Hell. It's not really that they're good or evil, so much as they've been strongly influenced by Angels or Demons. It's like a signature on a work of art.

Crowley knew most of his bosses signatures very well.

So when a man turned up at Crowley's home, wearing something that  _ screamed _ Hastur, well... it really was hard to resist the urge to slam the door in the man's face.

Okay, Hastur probably didn't  _ make _ the thing, but definitely had a part in it. Maybe contracts on the humans who made it. Crowley didn't use contracts often, but he'd done it a few times, for practical purposes. Hastur absolutely  _ loved _ contracts. Said it got a lot of the boring non-torture stuff out of the way.

"I don't know where you got that from-" he indicated the Cursed item, "-but it's got to go."

Crowley used a minor miracle to remove the device from the man more efficiently than having basic technical skills (that he didn't have) might have allowed. The man tried to protest but Crowley ignored it.

"Trust me, you're better off without it."

"It's my  _ arm! _ " the man protested.

"It's Cursed," Crowley dismissed, as if that explained anything to humans these days. He was already debating the respective merits of throwing it in the bin or putting it on a train to Surrey. The former would get it immediately out of mind, the latter would send Hastur's people on a merry chase.

Surrey it is, then.

"Excuse me a moment, I've got work to do. Here, go to this address, I'll meet you there in a few hours. Tell them Crowley sent you."

And Crowley handed over a business card, before slamming the door in the bewildered man's face, and setting about figuring out how best to pretend he had nothing to do with this mess.

x x x

A one-armed man walked into a bookshop In Soho.

Was his life some sort of joke, now?

It certainly made less sense than most jokes that started out in that vein.

On the way here, he had checked out another newspaper. It was 1991, now.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, in a tone of voice that instead said, 'Go away, go far away and leave me alone!'

He still didn't know anything about the man who had taken his arm, and now he found himself confronted by an incredibly territorial bookshop owner, who clearly didn't want visitors.

Well he could guess the name of the man who took his arm, as he answered, "Crowley sent me."

The bookshop owner rolled his eyes dramatically, then peered outside, carefully looking in all directions, as if expecting something unpleasant to be around the corner. Then he beckoned Bucky. "Come in then. What's all this about?"

Bucky followed the man into a small sitting area in the back of the shop, and watched warily as he began bustling around the kitchenette along the wall.

It didn't take long for Bucky to explain what little he both understood and was willing to share about the situation, but by the time he was done a large ceramic mug of hot chocolate was sitting in front of him, radiating warmth in a pleasant manner.

He accepted the offered drink without complaint.

It was like a little taste of heaven, and for a while he really didn't care about the missing arm, or the mysterious circumstances.

The bookshop owner introduced himself as Aziraphale ("I know, it's an old name"), and they discussed trivial matters. Favourite foods, books, that sort of thing. He hadn't been this relaxed since before the war.

Then Crowley showed up.

Well, barged in might be a better turn of phrase.

Crowley locked the door and turned the 'open' sign in the window to 'closed', and then joined them in the sitting room. "Alcohol," he said flatly.

Aziraphale obligingly pulled out a crystal decanter of something golden-coloured and expensive-looking. Without a label on the bottle, Bucky had no idea what it was, but Crowley took the decanter instead of the glass he was being offered, and downed it in one go.

"This is the mistake I mentioned," Crowley tells Aziraphale, waving vaguely at Bucky, who knew he probably ought to be offended, but wasn't exactly sure why.

"Really? He looks human," Aziraphale protested.

"Well  _ he _ is. It's complicated," Crowley retorted, before rudely reaching out and snapping his fingers in front of Bucky's face.

x x x

She was pretty sure she was going to Hell, when this is over.

She had broken  _ so many _ rules. She had killed people, that was pretty much the most important rule, and she had broken it. She had possessed a human, and that was definitely high on the bad list, as well. And not just any human, either, but one of her charges.

She had heard rumours of less-bad actual Demons.

Worse, she was ready in an instant to do it again. The killing part. If necessary.

But these two didn't look like HYDRA.

She had sought out this Demon, because she hadn't known what else to do. And here he was, more bizarrely than anything else she'd seen so far, he was sitting right next to a proper Angel, as if they were old friends.

At least HYDRA hadn't caught her again. She really didn't like the killing, but would definitely do it to them.

"Oh, I see. This is bad," the Angel said, sounding quite sombre.

"It's okay, we're not going to smite you," the Demon said, in a gentle tone.

She looked at the Angel sceptically, and he shifted uncomfortably. "I've never really smited anyone, don't think I'd want to start now."

She considered the fact that she was looking at a literal Demon, who would consider curses about damnation a positive thing, and a literal Angel who would feel the exact opposite, and carefully chose her response based on that.

"What the atheism is going on here?"

The Angel and the Demon looked at each other, and both burst out laughing at her choice. That was not the desired result.

"Sorry, yes, how rude of me," the Demon chuckled. "I've known you for half a century, and still don't know your name. I'm Crowley."

"And I'm Aziraphale," the Angel said with a polite nod.

"I'm-" she frowned. She couldn't remember her name. "They call me the Winter Solider."

Crowley hissed, looking away from the penetrating stare Aziraphale levelled at him. "I knew I messed up, but bless me. A brain damaged 'guardian angel'. If Hastor even suspected..."

"If Metatron heard, they'd probably just banish every single guardian on Earth to Hell, and claim the desire to leave Heaven in the first place was good enough reason," Aziraphale muttered, eyes wide with mild horror. "Last I counted, that's over ten thousand  _ good _ souls, doing  _ good _ work on Earth."

"Eugh, don't remind me," Crowley grumbled, looking mildly ill.

"Pardon me," Aziraphale said quite suddenly turning to her, and speaking with a far gentler tone. "But if you don't mind my asking, this is a full-on possession, isn't it? I don't know much about them, but I've  _ heard _ that - at least with demonic possessions - it should be possible to talk to the human host? It doesn't look like you've done that."

"It is possible, yes," Crowley said with a dismissive tone, before sitting up straighter and looking at her. "Yes, you should try that. Poor sod is totally clueless, don't think he even knows you exist."

"On the other hand, there is the taboo on revealing divine or demonic truths to mortals," Aziraphale pointed out. "Humans still believe in a voice in their head, but less so these days in the actual metaphysical."

"Mental illness  _ is _ already present," Crowley pointed out, with a nod. "She's got a laundry-list of issues, and I've only been talking to her for five minutes. May as well use it as an excuse."

"Or we could try to get her a new body, so she doesn't have to share his?" Aziraphale suggested pointedly.

"Yes, I'd love to see the look on Gabriel's face when you tried to explain that one," Crowley all but cackled.

"Oh... right," Aziraphale frowned. "That wouldn't go well, would it?"

Crowley sighed dramatically. "Looks like you're stuck with us, until we can figure out a better place to hide you. I sent those HYDRA contracts on a wild goose chase to Surrey, and then when they figure that out the'll assume you skipped the country. I guess now would be as good a time as any for you to start talking to yourself."

x x x

Tony Stark spent the next twenty-odd years believing that his parents died in a gas explosion in their manor, rather than a car accident on the way there.

Some evil plots are too important, downstairs, to be left unfinished like that.

Little did the Demons involved in the matter know the force of good they would eventually create by continuing to pick on that particular individual.

x x x


	3. You Could Always Try An Exorcism

x x x

In 1996, Bucky left London.

He wasn't sure why, only that something had happened - or not happened as the case may be - and it was probably the best thing for his safety and sanity (what little he had left of either) to get away from those two for a while.

He wasn't entirely sure where the red-haired woman had come from, only that she seemed familiar, and she wanted to stay close to him.

They ended up going to New York again, because the creepy black haired girl from before had grown up, moved to England, and told him to.

The voice in his head wasn't any help in any of these decisions.

x x x

War was a metaphysical being, whose physical form was defined by a combination of the state of the world, and her own will. Unlike some of her fellow metaphysical beings, War was always in good health, because so was the concept she embodied.

And yet, she had just been beaten by a smartass little girl.

She had been so excited for the Apocalypse, scheduled to occur last week, and it was all ruined now. Technically it hadn't even happened, but it only took exactly one person to remember for her kind to know, and exactly one person did in fact remember.

It was time to retreat, lick her wounds, and see which hornet's nest to stir up next.

This man was formerly a prisoner of HYDRA, and the angel possessing him was a valuable source of information. She didn't care about the politics of Angels and Demons... and HYDRA could be entertaining.

She had enjoyed the Cold War. She could make this a long game, too.

So she followed him to America (one of her favourite countries) and played nice. Platonic nice, even. Making men fight over her was one of the easiest and most boring forms of conflict she could incite, and she didn't actually have a sex drive, so there was no point to it. Not with him.

Time passed fairly quickly.

War found a few thugs, criminals, and gangs to stir up in the streets, to dispel her boredom, while she researched HYDRA's work on her new friend. She also found an 'ancient' organization called the Hand - not too shabby, really.

She kept in touch with her fellows.

As soon as the Internet became a big deal, Famine promptly began using it spreading stories about poisons in common foodstuffs, to generally discourage eating. Pestilence was making remarks about coming out of retirement if this kept up, because apparently these stories also slandered vaccines.

Pollution threw a temper tantrum (upended an oil tanker) after some incident in Afghanistan, in 2008, which apparently was to heralded to be the dawn of a new clean energy era.

Death never did talk much, but he did let slip that something had been mildly irritating him lately.

Other than that, it was a quiet almost-two-decades.

But then...

Oh, she was so happy she picked  _ this _ city.

x x x

"Should we tell them?" Crowley asked, watching the television broadcast with amusement. Thor and Loki were trolling around New York, causing chaos. There were a few humans getting themselves involved, and doing a surprisingly good job of taking Thor's side.

It all looked like a lot of exercise and mess, and not really all that much fun, in Crowley's opinion.

"Tell them what?" Aziraphale replied.

"About Hela. You know, she's still mad about people trying to rewrite her history. The old Norse Eddas were the worst, apparently," Crowley said with an amused snort. "As if anyone in the Renaissance ever painted Lucifer right."

"It doesn't look like our problem," Aziraphale pointed out.

"No, but it could be fun," Crowley replied, smirking.

"I've never been overly fond of your idea of fun, Crowley," Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley grinned broadly. "I'm going to tell them."

"Oh dear," Aziraphale sighed.

x x x

Of course, the instant they found out that Steve Rogers was alive, all three of them wanted to go and meet him.

Bucky was not pleased with either his eerily quiet roomate, or the voice in his head, for their apparent reasons.

It had taken some time to figure out the details about his escape from HYDRA, but in the end he had come to the conclusion that all the torture had given him some sort of split personality.

He had started calling her 'Winter'.

He wouldn't mind this so much if she wasn't apparently crazy.

She directly addressed their roomate as 'War', in spite of being told repeatedly that the woman's name was Natalia. She insisted her job was to protect him, in spite of the fact that he repeatedly told her he did not in fact find it at all helpful for her to  _ take over his body _ in order to do so. She clearly had no idea how to wash dishes or fold clothes, and made rude remarks about sexist stereotypes when either of them asked her to clean up after herself.

Not to mention the fact she clearly had feelings for Steve that Bucky was in no way prepared to discuss. That was his best friend, and from the moment they had discovered he was alive, the voice in his head had been making obscene commentary.

"You could always try an exorcism," Natalia had suggested, when he finally snapped and yelled at Winter to never  _ ever _ again tell him what she thought of Steve.

He wished that was an option, but he didn't believe in that sort of fairy-tale anymore.

Meanwhile, Natalia's reason for wanting to meet Steve was all about the war. Sometimes he almost  _ got _ why Winter called her that. She positively rhapsodised about violence, and Steve apparently embodied one of history's greatest victories in that arena.

Bucky resented that Natalia got to meet Steve first, because she worked with the organisation that had woken him up.

He was also a bit relieved, because he still couldn't control Winter.

He didn't really mind, the few times they had stumbled into danger (three HYDRA scouts, two times Natalia started a bar fight, and one ordinary mugging), and she took over to kick everyone's asses. She even defeated Natalia once, which really was very impressive, because in spite of his weight advantage and not-insignificant skill, Natalia turned violence into a glorious dance that he could never hope to keep up with, without Winter's help.

It was when Winter started with the crazy-talk, or took over just to steal something she wanted and he refused to buy for her, that it became a problem.

He quickly learned not to say no when she wanted to  _ shop _ , after the time he woke up with half their apartment covered in stolen women's shoes and expensive jewellery. She hadn't even wanted those things, she had done it just to spite him for refusing in the first place.

On the bright side, Natalia somehow knew how to sell on stolen merchandise, and kept some of the less distinctive items for herself, commenting that Winter at least had good taste in shoes. Bucky was more relieved that Winter had the good taste not to try to make him wear them.

Still, nobody wanted a repeat of that day.

And Bucky wanted even less to let Winter anywhere near Steve.

x x x

Loki was being escorted to an oddly public place, for his transport back to Asgard. He absolutely expected to be judged guilty, likely without removing the gag to let him defend himself, and executed without any investigation into his motives or any possible extenuating circumstances.

Honestly, it seemed like the best course of action, in his opinion. Hela seemed to like him - in spite of the fact the mortals deeply misjudged his relationship to her - and she had allowed him to escape Niflheim twice before.

But then, as Thor spoke quietly to one of the Avengers, he noticed a familiar face in the crowd.

He desperately wanted to tell Thor to hurry up. He didn't want to talk to Crowley right now. Or worse, be talked at by Crowley.

One of the problems of having such a long lifespan was when such an infuriating creature happens to be just as long-lived, and decides it likes you. Crowley was such a creature. Loki had no idea why Crowley liked him, quiet frankly. Loki disliked all of Midgard's native 'Angels'; they were all as boring and unimaginative as the average Aesir, which is very much an insult to both species.

Crowley was in fact the least offensive of their kind, in that regard, that Loki had met... but made up for it by being so horribly, offensively... talkative.

"Oh wow, you're the Avengers, right?" Loki now wished to be suddenly stricken either deaf or unconscious. Thor's eyes widened in shocked recognition, and he half hid behind Loki.

Oh yeah, that's brave and noble.

Thor and Loki were both eternally grateful for Tony Stark, in that moment, because he distracted Crowley with his own brand of endless inane chatter. Crowley almost kept up, it was a close call, but in the end Stark was clearly indomitable.

Thor exchanged a slightly fearful look with Loki. Loki nodded to the transport device.

Before the other Avengers could ask who this mysterious man was, the two Asgardians had disappeared back to Asgard.

"That was close," Thor whispered.

"I am sorry to say," Heimdall said, sadly. "It is unlikely you can visit Midgard again, while also avoiding that one. It seems he specifically wants to talk to you."

"I must warn Jane," Thor said with horror.

Loki rolled his eyes, and started marching off down the bridge. He'd rather get this execution over with than even talk  _ about _ Crowley again. Thor quickly scrambled to follow him and at least pretend to be restraining the prisoner Loki was theoretically supposed to be.

x x x

Crowley wasn't distracted by Stark, but rather mildly impressed by him.

Humans had always been so much greater than Angels in their general strength of personality. It wasn't just the capacity for good and evil, but other strong forces, such as the aggressively amicable dislike Stark now displayed in Crowley's general direction. It managed to embody several graces and sins at once, as it politely told him to fuck off without actually using those words.

And he was about to leave, thwarted in his attempt to speak to the Asgardians as he had been.

But then he saw  _ her _ .

War had been 'on sabbatical' since the Apocalypse didn't happen in back 1996. Her works hadn't been, because most of those were just human doing, attributed to her... but, well... here she was. Standing right next to Captain America, and glaring thankfully metaphorical daggers at Crowley.

She arched an eyebrow at him pointedly, and he had the good sense ot back off.

You don't mess with War.

Not even when she's whispering in a national icon's ear. Whatever she was up to, it was her business, not Crowley's.

Most unfortunately for Crowley, there was another observer to the party.

x x x


End file.
